Chapter 72

Ever since last year, when she'd learned there was such a thing as the martial world, Qi Qian'er had been holding in a whole bellyful of things she wanted to say. Not aimed at any one person. She wanted to ask every last one of them sitting here.

Whenever there's a point to be made, there's a way to open it. A woman like Qi Qian'er, or the old lady, when she wants to draw somebody into talk, generally starts with how they're dressed.

Old women's oldest trick. Ten thousand years and it never changes.

She took the death-duel notice Guan Zhuping had written out, folded it shut, and set it aside without getting up. She saw Guan Zhuping's surprise, but stayed kneeling. She fixed her eyes on his big padded coat and asked, "Say, old brother, this cloth of yours, where'd you buy it?"

Guan Zhuping had just been about to gather his focus and take up his silver spear. The question left him blank.

He looked down at his own coat. It was a robe his disciples below had offered up to him long ago. He gave his whole mind to the martial arts and didn't fuss over small things. He wasn't particular about clothes, and he'd left in a hurry this trip. He'd brought only this one coat off Yuegong Mountain.

He turned it over in his mind a good while and still couldn't make out what she was driving at. It muddled him, and wanting to sort himself out, he asked back, "I wonder what the Elm-Tree Mother means?"

Qi Qian'er clicked her tongue several times, tsk, tsk, tsk, and said, "Old brother, they tell me you're a great name of your generation, a famous man of Yuegong Mountain?"

When an old woman picks a fight, she praises first and cuts after.

This? Was this praising him?

Guan Zhuping had seen much and knew much, and as a rule he had no taste for flattery. But this was the Elm-Tree Mother. Did she too know his name? Did she admire the free, bold life he'd once led in the martial world?

The two on the platform hadn't moved, but every word they said carried, not one syllable lost, to the ears of everyone around.

So the whole ground was one field of puzzled faces. Only Xie Liuhao, hugging his gong, thought: my ancestors, look where we are, she's off again. Give her half an afternoon and she'll coax out of this old man even the number of grains of rice in every mouse-hole back home.

He looked at Guan Zhuping with sympathy, sniffed, and grabbed another handful of beans.

Guan Zhuping thought hard a moment, then, with the bearing of a master, said, "Only talk of the martial world. An empty name I don't deserve. The Elm-Tree Mother flatters me."

At that Qi Qian'er slapped her thigh and said, certain now, "There, I said so, a famous man for sure!"

Before, afraid of giving herself away, back when she'd fought Pang Tu she hadn't dared say much. But now nobody could tell who she was. And if she didn't run her mouth good and proper, her name wasn't Huo.

Guan Zhuping had fought more battles than he could count. No end of famous men had fallen under his silver spear. They all said plenty before a fight, but never anything like this.

Pleased. He was pleased, right enough. Only he couldn't for the life of him work out the Elm-Tree Mother's manner.

So he pressed further: "I wonder what it is the Elm-Tree Mother wishes to say?"

Qi Qian'er didn't take up his question. She asked her own: "Old brother, and what's your honorable age this year?"

Guan Zhuping tipped his chin up a little. "I am eighty-four."

That set off another string of tsk-tsks. When she'd tsked her fill she went on: "And how many children at home?"

Guan Zhuping was getting angry. He set his brows and answered coldly, "I gave my whole life to the martial arts. I never married!"

This time Qi Qian'er didn't tsk. She nodded, and said, sounding truly relieved, "Ah, so that's it! That's it! No wonder, I did wonder. That's good, that's good, that's just as it should be."

Guan Zhuping flew into a rage, closed his hand on the shaft of his spear and barked, "Fight if you mean to fight! What's all this jabbering for?"

Qi Qian'er's voice shot up at once: "Fight, course we'll fight, why wouldn't we? Only, before we fight there's a thing or two we ought to get straight, eh? Say, old brother, haven't your back teeth all fallen out? A man your age, come here to spend his strength, and your last few meals were nothing but flour-soup...?"

Eh? Something was off about that.

Everyone around, Guan Zhuping included, was startled. Could the Elm-Tree Mother have set someone to follow him?

Flour-soup, she said? What did she mean? She had tracked his every movement. Had she used the chance to poison him? Surely not. And even if she'd played some trick, with every eye on them there'd be no call to say it out so plainly.

A chill went through Guan Zhuping, first fury, then alarm. He set the spear down at once, gathered himself, and sent his breath around a full circuit. He found nothing wrong at all?

So he opened his eyes slowly, looked at Qi Qian'er and said coldly, "However low Baiquan Mountain has sunk, it is still a famed mountain at the Son of Heaven's feet, and how many bold and gallant men has it bred down the ages! What poison have you fed me, you mean little creature? Base and shameless, a mean creature's trick, sure enough. Come, come, if you've the nerve, fight me here on this platform..."

Qi Qian'er cut in quickly: "Wait, wait! Old brother, what are you on about? Poison, what poison?"

"Still you won't own it!"

The blood surged in Guan Zhuping's chest. He swept up the spear and, like a venom-dragon breaking from the sea, drove three linked strokes. Qi Qian'er brought up her little gold maces, clang, clang, clang, three parries. Guan Zhuping had traveled hard the whole way, old and failing, but not yet beaten in the fight. Thinking himself poisoned, he'd struck out in a flush of temper. With a few clean, offhand parries she pressed the spearhead down to the ground.

A bit put out, Qi Qian'er asked loudly, "What's this feeble streak you've got, same as your disciple's? Bad enough you won't keep to the rules, you've all got to love a sneak-attack too? Own to what?"

They'd come to blows at last. Everyone in the stands shot to their feet. They watched the three strokes that had made Guan Zhuping's name and admired him inwardly. Never mind he was past eighty, his hands and feet were quick, cold and fierce just as the legends had it. And then, in the space of a breath, the Elm-Tree Lady had him pinned with no trouble at all?

Those three parries were masterful and clean, every one reckoned out exactly. Each of Guan Zhuping's strokes got only half-made before she rapped it to the right spot and shed its force, forcing him into a second stroke to keep up the attack. That, too, she undid without effort.

No, surely not? That was Guan Zhuping, the old recluse!

Guan Zhuping had gone still, and the crowd took it for a quarrel of words only. They didn't know he was secretly working his breath, his silver spear pinned to the ground, not stirring a hair.

Two days' wait for this? Those three strokes gone in an instant, and the crowd felt cheated, stopped up somehow. They wondered, had the Elm-Tree Mother truly poisoned Guan Zhuping after all?

Guan Zhuping's face changed terribly. At last, one hand on the spear, the other clutched to his chest, he raged, "You base and venomous woman, you've poisoned me!"

The injustice of it!

How could Qi Qian'er own to such a thing? She raised a mace, pointed at the Jiusi Hall men, and cried, "You've gone soft in the head! With all these officials sitting right there, I'd poison you? What nonsense are you talking!"

Xie Wuhao, chewing his younger brother's beans just then, choked on the spot, and not daring to cough, held it in till his face went red.

Officials? Who? Who was an official?

Guan Zhuping said, cold and grim and set, "No poison? Then how does a mean creature like you know the state of my body, how do you know I've been living on flour-soup these last days? Under this bright sky, before all these eyes, you'd deny it? Hmph! With so many here, I doubt you'll wriggle out. Baiquan Mountain, no better than this, after all!"

Qi Qian'er reeled back with temper. She lifted her little gold maces, jabbed one at Guan Zhuping and let fly: "You old man, you've lived all these years for nothing, how can you talk such rot? You're eighty-four, eighty-four! At your age how many back teeth have you got left to lose? If you had teeth to chew with, would you be on flour-soup every day?"

Guan Zhuping spat and swore, "Still you twist it. Say the heat in me did drop a couple of old teeth, that's my own private business. How would you know it? And still you say you've not been watching me, not poisoned me?"

Qi Qian'er drew a long breath, hopped back a step, and swore right back: "Pah! You muddled old egg, your teeth are gone and now you dribble your soup, look at yourself! The bits you spilled drinking flour-soup yesterday and the day before are still down your lapel! Watching you, my eye! What's the old man raving about?"

Silence. Silence. Silence...

Countless mouthfuls of tea sprayed out. Countless eyeballs dropped.

The silver spear fell clanging from Guan Zhuping's hand. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his head and looked at the front of his own coat.

Qi Qian'er passed the mace from her right hand to her left and, all kindly good will, pointed: "There! There, see, the flour-bits are still on you... aiyo, poor thing... eighty-four, dribbling his soup and doesn't even know it himself? Tsk, tsk, tsk..."

Guan Zhuping looked at his lapel, and with a shaking hand picked off a little dried noodle from the front of it.

A lifetime's good name, all of it gone. Better to just die here and now!

But Qi Qian'er still wouldn't let the man be, and helpfully pointed some more: "There, there, under your arm, old brother, there's another bit over there, ah yes, that one, that one dribbled somewhere out of the way, must be near half a month old, that?"

A pity, her kindness went unsold. Guan Zhuping spat a mouthful of bright blood, and it gave Qi Qian'er such a fright she leapt backward clean up a flagpole.

She called out, "Aiyo, this is bad, the old man's up in years, no sons, no daughters, nobody to look after him, something wrong inside him, is it? How's he up and spitting blood for no reason?"

At that, Guan Zhuping, pff, spat another mouthful of blood.

Pei Daohai gave a wild, piercing shout, "Grandmaster!" Shout done, he flung down what was in his hands and rushed onto the platform to catch the swaying Guan Zhuping.

Past all caring now, he swore at Qi Qian'er, "Base and shameless!"

Would Qi Qian'er swallow that? She hopped down off the flagpole and, keeping well clear of the froth of blood on the ground, shot back at once, "You child, what wild nonsense are you talking? How am I base and shameless?"

Pei Daohai, in a towering rage, veins standing out, roared, "If you've the nerve, fight my grandmaster with real blade and real spear! How could you use such a vile trick to enrage him into spitting blood! You're base, you're shameless! Baiquan Mountain, pah! Pah! Pah!"

In an instant the whole place was in an uproar. Qi Qian'er was Baiquan Mountain's standard-bearer, and to spit at her was to spit on the face of every man there. They'd sooner throw their lives away today than not. They'd hack that thief on the platform into eight pieces, or else, once they went out tomorrow, any little punk could spit in their faces.

This "base and shameless", Baiquan Mountain could not accept it!

Baiquan Mountain wouldn't accept it, and Qi Qian'er would swallow it even less. She'd meant to spit right back. Then she thought again: no, I've a mask on, spitting would only foul myself.

So the Elm-Tree Lady kept her spit to herself, and standing well back, answered, "Wild nonsense, how is it I who angered him? Plain as day it's you unworthy brats who've angered your own granddad into spitting blood. Under this bright sky, in broad daylight, you talk rot and pin it on me!"

Pei Daohai was about to sneer something back when his grandmaster caught hold of him.

Guan Zhuping drew a slow breath, steadied his stance, reached out and took up his silver spear again, and said to Qi Qian'er, "Elm-Tree Mother, this platform is for the two of us. He's young, he doesn't understand, don't hold it against him."

He knew he must die today. His one fear was that his grand-disciple, alone, would never get his corpse off this venomous woman's ground.

Not hold it against him? Not a chance!

Qi Qian'er reckoned a loss of words the greatest loss in this world. Lose on the platform today and never mind, but a loss of words would torment her, rob her of sleep half a month, and for the rest of her life the memory would have her slapping herself back and forth: how could your tongue be so slow? You should have said such-and-such, come back with so-and-so...

She said hotly, "That's not how it is! Come, come, all these people, every one a witness! Since when does your family throw reason out the window? One moment I'm spying on you, the next I'm poisoning you? Now you see you've wronged me, so it's I who angered you into spitting blood! Hah, is all the sense in the world Yuegong Mountain's sense now? Your own unworthy brats anger you into spitting blood, and somehow it's turned into my doing?"

The onlookers all fell silent, friend and foe, honest road and crooked alike, every one of them thinking: it was you who angered him.

Guan Zhuping bore it with all his strength, and at the last could bear it no longer: "I cannot out-argue you. Have it however you say! I've only this one life left me now... Come! Take it as you please. What would you have me do? On your ground, my living or dying hangs on a word from you!"

That made Qi Qian'er blow up. She pointed at him and scolded, "You old man, where's your sense? Have you lived all your years onto a dog's body, snapping at everyone you meet?"

Well, that shut everyone right up!

So a body couldn't even speak the plain truth now?

Guan Zhuping's temper had gold flowers bursting before his eyes. He was about to spit blood again when, from a stand on the right, someone intoned the Buddha's name: "Amitabha. Good lady, this is going too far. Old Master Guan's blood and breath run ill just now, do not anger him more."

The invocation came in a child's voice, the milk not yet off it. The crowd, startled, looked toward the sound, and there, the cloth curtain of that stand drawn back, among a dozen or so elderly monks, sat a small monk, upright and composed.

A small monk indeed, eleven or twelve at the very most.

Xie Wuhao, Executive Warden of the Jiusi Hall, started at the sight of the newcomer. He rose and called to those beside him, "It's Master Sikou of the Nation-Protecting Temple, come at last. Someone, show the master to a seat over here."

The martial-world folk broke into a buzz of talk, and through it ran a murmur of invocations, all of it worship.

Curious, Qi Qian'er looked him over closely: the little monk seated in the middle there was carved of powder and jade, wrapped besides in a great red kasaya, such a dear little child, and it set off her old sickness of pining for her son.

She had no idea what the Nation-Protecting Temple stood for, still less how deep the waters of the martial world ran, so she smiled and said to the pink-and-white little monk, "Say, little monk, a monk tells no lies. This old man's been angered into spitting blood by his unworthy brats. How has it become my doing? You're only small, you don't understand the ways of this world, so mind you don't talk rot. Talk rot and watch out, or I'll..."

She'd meant to say something motherly along the lines of: child, you talk rot, and old granny here will pull your trousers down and smack your backside. But then she saw how many of them there were and how strong, that a fight would be trouble, and that in a shouting match, with all those mouths, she'd surely come off worse. So she turned the words aside, pointed with a mace, and said, "Little monk, you come down here! I'll lay this matter out for you plain!"

Bad business! Baiquan Mountain, right in the doorway, hollering a challenge at the Nation-Protecting Temple?

The air went heavy in an instant. Not a soul so much as coughed, and there were plenty whose legs went soft with fear.

Qi Qian'er stood there unmoving, maces raised. The little monk was quiet a moment, then slowly stood up.

Those around him were all alarm. One counseled softly, "Abbot, this woman's ways are strange and hard to read, you must not lightly put yourself in danger. Let this poor monk go down and deal with her a while."

Qi Qian'er blinked, puzzled, and thought: these monks aren't chanting their sutras. What, do they mean to fight me too?

But the little monk calmly intoned the Buddha's name: "Amitabha. Brothers, don't be anxious. As I see it, that lady bodhisattva is only sharp of tongue. Through it all she has never once struck at a man in his weakness, so there's no danger. And now that Master's shelter is gone, this little monk must grow up sometime."

With that the little monk stirred, and leapt down steadily from the decorated stand. In his great kasaya he came down like a red cloud, and landing raised not a single mote of dust.

A fresh burst of cheering went round, but Qi Qian'er let out a surprised "eh?" Since she'd entered this wretched martial world she'd seen her share of masters, yet none of them felt to her the way this little monk did.

How to put it, the little monk, small as he was, carried a weight that pressed on you.

Grave-faced, the little monk walked as though he trod on lotus-thrones, step by step, up onto the dueling platform. As he came near and Qi Qian'er looked again, she cheered him harder in her heart.

How to describe it, in two lifetimes she'd never seen a second soul born with such a Buddha-air to him. Set him on the ground, no need to build a temple. He'd bring in two winnowing-baskets of incense-money in no time at all.

The little monk was too good-looking by far. Never mind he was small, he had such a settled, steady air to him. Clean and neat, he gave Qi Qian'er a single glance and took her heart, liver, lungs and all clean away. What white milk-skin the child had, what bright, clear eyes, what a fine delicate nose, and what a proper little mouth. It looked fit for nothing but chanting the Buddha's name, never a word of common talk.

Eh? Was that birthmark on the child's brow really a three-petaled lotus?

Sikou grew uneasy under her stare, and pressed his palms together in salute: "Peace to you, lady bodhisattva."

Such a clean creature, greeting her. Qi Qian'er hurried to return the courtesy: "Good, good, good, tsk, a fine-looking little monk like you, how'd you come to leave the world? Such a fine child, and your mother and father could bear to give you up? How did those monks trick you into the temple... how old are you this year? Is that lotus on your brow a birthmark? Truly you've got the Buddha-bond in you..."

Out came another great heap of Qi Qian'er's questions, and pity poor little Sikou: he'd lived in the temple as far back as he could remember. He'd chanted the Buddha's name since he could talk, and copied out sutras under his master since he could hold a brush. The words themselves he understood, but their meaning was quite past him.

Guan Zhuping, standing to one side, started up in anger again and scolded her, "You long-tongued woman, show some respect, hold your tongue this instant! You'll not be rude to the master."

Qi Qian'er couldn't stand him. She turned to let fly a long string of curses, when she heard the little monk say, "I wonder what matter the lady bodhisattva called this poor monk down to lay out?"

Qi Qian'er clapped her hands: "Right, right, right, I called you down to be a witness. Come, come, everyone sit, and I'll lay the straight of it out for you."

A witness?

The monks looked at one another, and all together let out a breath.

Her say said, Qi Qian'er reached out and took the little monk's hand, just as if she were leading a child of her own.

Drawing him toward the middle, Qi Qian'er, with no ceremony at all, pointed at the Jiusi Hall wardens and gave her orders.

"That tall fellow over there, bring one of those cushions out from under your backsides for the little monk to sit on. The little monk's far too clean to be sitting here at all. The place is all over blood, it's unlucky, and he's a man who's left the world, mustn't go fouling him."

Guan Zhuping was the only one who'd spat blood on the spot, so this was aimed at him again. He patted his chest with one hand and bore it. If he could set Baiquan Mountain against the Nation-Protecting Temple, then even to die would be worth it.

But the Nation-Protecting Temple's monks were well pleased. Their own little abbot was surely a born son of the Buddha come down to earth, the cleanest soul in the world. They didn't like their abbot's hand being held, but hearing the lady call one man "old brother" and the abbot "you child," they reckoned she must be well on in years herself, and so they could bear it.

Before long the platform had settled into a triangle. Master Sikou of the Nation-Protecting Temple sat on a satin cushion, plain vegetarian sweets set beside him, with Xie Liuhao of the Jiusi Hall standing behind him. Guan Zhuping, a hand to his chest, was helped down to sit by his grand-disciple, slowly working his breath to heal himself.

The onlookers all thought: they'd roamed the martial world a good many years now and seen no few strange things, but today's was the strangest of all.

Once Qi Qian'er had sat, Sikou asked her, "I wonder how the lady bodhisattva means to settle the matter?"

Qi Qian'er thought a moment, then said to Sikou, "Little monk, just now your people said it was I who angered this old man into spitting blood?"

Master Sikou said nothing, only intoned the Buddha's name.

Qi Qian'er slapped her knee: "The injustice of it! It's not that I'd speak ill of him, but look at this coat of his!"

Everyone turned together to look at Guan Zhuping's coat. Shamed, he clapped a hand at once over the filthy patch on his chest and glared at Qi Qian'er, the blood churning up in him again.

Qi Qian'er snorted at him and turned her face to Sikou: "I said it was his unfilial brats who angered him, and I'm not making it up. Look at this coat, this is the broad plain cloth you can buy up north for seven hundred big iron coins. Understand?"

Eh? They did not. The crowd shook their heads as one.

Qi Qian'er, exasperated at the lot of them, said, "Every one of you, a pack of fools." She pointed at the silver chests outside the awning: "That silver over there is all tribute for me, so they say, that's true, isn't it?"

The crowd nodded again together, quite unable to work out what the woman was getting at.

Pleased with herself now, Qi Qian'er counted it off on her fingers for the little monk: "Say what you like, but this one's eighty-four, an old man with his teeth near all dropped out. Whose old grandfather, at that age, goes racing ten thousand li to stick his neck out for his children and grandchildren? None, eh? It's not right, eh?"

And how was anyone to answer that?

The crowd thought it over, and true enough! Pang Tu had made the mess. Of all the people they might have sent out, to send out a man of eighty-four was going a bit far.

Qi Qian'er paid no mind to who nodded and who shook their heads. She went on: "It's not as though I've never seen old men. Never mind others, in the alley next to ours, back home, there were several old men, and none of them so much as eighty-four. Past sixty they stopped working, they were grand old granddads! Once they'd seen a third generation they sat back and took their ease. When a man's grown old, worn himself out a whole life long and raised a brood of children besides, shouldn't he drink what he likes and throw his little tempers when he pleases? Have I got that wrong?"

Qi Qian'er clapped her hands and looked round left and right, gathering her allies.

Of course he should. Eighty-four, how many men of eighty-four did you see these days?

They all nodded together.

Her backing won, Qi Qian'er pointed at Guan Zhuping again: "This old man's like me. He's got a mountain peak of his own to run, Jiuxiao Peak or some such? By rights he'll have taken in a good deal of tribute too. Tsk, come now, it's not that I'd shame his juniors, but just look, everyone, at this padded coat of his."

They all looked at Guan Zhuping together.

A whole life's face, gone. Every scrap of dignity, shattered. His head only buzzed, and all he could do was feebly shield his own coat.

Qi Qian'er's whole face was disgust. "Look at the workmanship, coarse needle, big loose stitches, plainly the lowest sort of sewing-woman made it. He's earned all that silver for his disciples and their disciples, and even if they've no conscience left at all, eighty-four! Eighty-four! How many more days can he flap about? An old man setting off on a long road, the least you could do is fit him out with a couple of decent outfits to be seen in. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

To drive her words home, Qi Qian'er clapped her hands a few more times to show her disgust.

Coat done, she moved to the shoes. "Everyone look at his shoes. An old man's bones go soft, one fall at his age and they snap, and they packed him off in a single pair of thick hemp-soled shoes? Eighty-four! Eighty-four! How many more days has he got!

"Yuegong Mountain, a great house with hundreds of years of might behind it, you can't have fallen so poor as that? Those soft shoes with two or three ox-sinew strings to the sole, you'd get the old man a couple of pairs, surely? Even a scrap of filial feeling wouldn't do things this way. He's come up onto the platform to fight to the death for your whole mountain. Where's your conscience?"

At that they all looked again at Guan Zhuping's thick-soled black boots, worn down on one side, and sure enough... they were on the shabby side. And it was true, the old man had carried Yuegong Mountain's banner for decades. How much would a couple of pairs of comfortable shoes have cost them?

They had come round to her side, and Qi Qian'er grew prouder still. She turned and pointed now at Guan Zhuping's neck, and at his fingernails, and said with deep disgust: "Come, come, don't let it be said I've wronged their children. Look at the roots of this old master's neck, three cun of grime, and look at his nails, tsk, that's last year's dirt in them, isn't it?"

At this Qi Qian'er fixed her eyes on Pei Daohai. "Well? I say you're unfilial and you won't have it, fine fellows! There's the coffin already made and waiting. Your granddad's eighty-four, eighty-four! His oil's burned dry, his lamp's guttering, he'll kick his legs out any moment now. Why, even an old donkey about to die gets a feed of good fodder! Well? Isn't he worth that much?

"If you'd any filial feeling, the night before you'd at least have boiled a pot of hot water and scrubbed the old man down warm, inside and out, and trimmed his finger and toenails. He's setting out on the road, no harm in being clean, is there? He's no homeless wandering ghost. And on top of that, a thirteen-layer shroud you can't afford, fine, but did you get your granddad even a three-layer cloth one ready?"

Martial-world folk, who among them didn't just die where they fell and get their bones buried where they died? Who fussed over such things?

Pei Daohai wanted to answer back, but couldn't find a place to begin.

He hadn't got any of this ready for his grandmaster. He didn't even know to!

Seeing him so ashamed, Qi Qian'er gave a cold snort: "You never did right by the old man of your house, packed him off all filthy and slovenly to lose face in public and make a laughingstock for outsiders. And when an outsider, in fairness, picks him out a few words on the old man's behalf, isn't that for your own good?

"You great unfilial things! You thunder-struck wretches, you've spent the old man's decades of blood-and-sweat money, and you'd not even spare him a set of grave-clothes, and then you pin it on me?"

Before Qi Qian'er had finished her scolding, Guan Zhuping spat out another mouthful of blood... a big one this time, coming down like rain.

Lucky Qi Qian'er's skill was good: whoosh, she sprang clear, and springing clear, didn't forget to pull the little monk clear along with her.

Quick as anything, that move.

Once she was steady again and saw Guan Zhuping about to fall, she still wouldn't let it go, but said to Sikou, like teaching a child: "Little monk, you mark this well. It's not that I look down on their Yuegong Mountain, but a person born into this world can be poor, can be rotten, only filial duty can't be cut short by a hair, or sooner or later Heaven's five thunders will strike you down. You've seen how this old man's ended up, haven't you?"

Master Sikou hadn't heard a word Qi Qian'er said. His head was full of nothing but that one phrase, eighty-four, eighty-four, eighty-four, Amitabha, eighty-four, how wretched, how pitiable.

He'd have his brothers get the poor old master a few sets of clean monk's robes, he thought, and their own monk's shoes, however poor, were better than what was on the old man's feet.

Having won the quarrel, Qi Qian'er was of course quietly delighted, and she closed the case: "Say what you like, but a body has to do good and store up virtue, has to be filial to father and mother, has to keep to the rules of this world. You see this old man, how pitiful he is now? Hah! Eighty-four and no one to care for him, that's his karma come due.

"Little monk, my words aren't pleasant, but the sense in them is real. This is retribution come to him, and he was a greatly unfilial man himself! If he hadn't thrown his weight about so in his young days and dragged his parents and kin to their deaths on his account, he'd at least have some blood-kin to look after him, and a family grave to be buried in when he died. As it is, still living, and worse off than a beast, he's walked a whole life to eighty-four and still doesn't know where he went wrong."

Something was different about Sikou today, he even took up the thread.

He said, "Lady bodhisattva, where did he go wrong?"

Qi Qian'er snorted coldly. "The realm's barely settled, the people barely at peace, and out he comes to plague the martial world, stir up strife, harm men and cost lives, a man without loyalty or kindness! His parents and kin lost their lives on his account, and he, the one seedling left, has grown to eighty-four with no shame in him, never even carried on the family blood-line, a greatly unfilial wretch! And last of all, when others entrusted a child to his name to raise, he brought that child up into another generation of cruelty and blood-lust, disloyal and unfilial all over again. You tell me, isn't he black of heart and black of lung, rotten clean through..."

Before even this was finished, Guan Zhuping, pff, pff, pff, spat three cloudburst mouthfuls of blood, his eyes rolled up, and he crashed over backward, face to the sky.

No one around said a word. After a long while, Sikou sighed: "Amitabha. Lady bodhisattva... the old master has breathed his last."

Qi Qian'er said, unbothered, "Little master, by what the Buddhists say, which end should he be going cold from now? The Buddhists say cold from the head down to the feet, and that's the beast realm! Near enough, I'd say. All those charity-pavilions of ours across Baiquan Mountain's few hundred li, all those widows and orphans, well, today at least we've won one back."

Slowly she let go of the little monk's hand and walked slowly up to the dumbstruck Pei Daohai. "Boy, you heard it clear? It wasn't I who angered him. I only laid the plain truth bare. It was you who angered him to death! Yuegong Mountain, pah! What a sorry lot!"

Guan Zhuping lay there wretchedly, his eyes unclosed in death. Qi Qian'er stepped round his corpse and walked slowly toward Xie Wuhao.

Xie Wuhao, afraid, backed off two steps, but the Elm-Tree Lady said, "Boy, those silver chests under the awning there, I don't want them. Carry them away."

The crowd was astonished, but too afraid to speak.

They watched the Elm-Tree Lady put away her maces, and as she did she said in disgust: "The martial world, my arse, old grudges, my arse! Every one of you born of a mother and raised by a father, and you go reckoning yourselves worth nothing, throwing a life away the moment the word's said. Get on home, the lot of you, be honest, be filial to your parents, raise your children. And if anyone flies my banner to collect tribute-silver again tomorrow, you watch out, I'll sit on your roof and curse you three days and three nights!"

That said, she stood, slung her weapons on her back, looked round left and right and asked loudly, "Are Baiquan Mountain's people all deaf?"

The words came out carried on her breath-force, and were deafening of themselves.

The Baiquan Mountain line, naturally afraid, nodded all round and said yes, yes.

Only then, satisfied, did Qi Qian'er say: "The realm's at peace now, a wise ruler's taken the throne, and good days under Heaven's own shelter are coming! From here on, if you've a little to spare in hand, send your children to study. Pass the exams for juren or licentiate one day and it's an honor to the whole house. Eight generations of ancestors, dead as they are, would laugh their way back to life in their graves.

"And if you've daughters, raise them with care too, work hard and get the girl a good dowry besides, and when you're old you'll have your cup of wine to drink! Children safe and sound about your knees, parents glad, a good life like that you won't live. Instead you go stirring about in the black waters of this fool martial world, spoiling for a fight, every one of you, truly... fools!"

Her say said, the young woman leapt lightly off, away into the hills again.